


it's hard, being the only sanity around

by Wolfereign



Category: Invader Zim
Genre: And some therapy, Angst, Comics, Gen, Homesickness, Hurt No Comfort, Mourning, Zimvoid, kinda projection, meta/character study, please give zib a family, suicidal ideation is implied but not explicitly mentioned, this child has too much to handle
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-04
Updated: 2020-04-04
Packaged: 2021-02-28 20:27:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 870
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23473243
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wolfereign/pseuds/Wolfereign
Summary: Being Number 1 in the void isn't as glamorous a life as you'd think it would be.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 39





	it's hard, being the only sanity around

**Author's Note:**

> Oh I wrote this in one night quarantine is really getting to me. Anyways uhhhhh enjoy please! I've grown attached to Zib ;-;

_It’s hot,_ he thinks, sitting in his metal throne. But Irkens are cold-blooded, and he can’t risk them freezing to death before his plan is completed. So, he puts up with it. The metal of the Zim suit might stick to him, sure, but it will all be worth it in the end. Or so he tells himself.

It’s hard, making sure the Zim’s don’t all die. A few losses here and there is no big deal, but too many at a time could ruin everything. Sometimes they don’t find enough food for themselves, and he has to do it for them. Sometimes a fight will break out and won’t be settled in time, and he has to break it up before any fatal injuries can be dished out.

It’s hard, managing everything. Keeping every Zim in check gets exhausting. One Zim is difficult enough, but over two thousand? It’s a miracle he hasn’t dropped dead yet. The top ninety-nine are easy enough to keep in check. They mostly brainwash themselves. The resistance, on the other hand… It’s the bane of his existence.  
  


Everytime he thinks he’s gotten rid of them, they come back. Like roaches. Only bigger, and more annoying.  
  
Actually, he thinks, roaches would be better company. At least they weren’t so egotistical.

It’s hard, making sure everything works. All the technology had to come from somewhere, and most of it was his own engineering. Constantly checking up on the wiring, and pipes, and every little control panel took a lot out of him. But it was worth it. He’d show them all. He had to keep going.

It’s hard, dealing with the pain in his head. The PAK attached to his skull never quite integrated right. It was never meant for use with anything but an Irken. The metal always pounded dully in his head, a chronic migraine forming from it. He could feel it pulse through his veins all the time. It was something he could never get used to.

It’s hard, hearing his voice in his head. Zim would never shut up. His consciousness was still alive in his PAK, and it gave Dib hell. He always had something to say, and it never stopped. He wasn’t sure if being the only one who could hear it made it worse or not.

It’s hard, being the only human around. Being the only person he can actually talk to. No one except him can actually know his thoughts.

He leans on the balcony, watching over the void. Seeing all the little interactions. The friendships. PDA always grossed him out, but he supposed he could get used to it. All for the greater good. All for his vision. He never did understand how Zim’s could get along, though.

The artificial sun was setting, covering the landscape in a gentle orange hue. He sighed, staring up at the sky he’d created. It just wasn’t the same as Earth. Nothing was ever the same as Earth.

He turned on his heel, making his way to the shitty little bed he kept in his quarters. Zim’s rarely kept anything soft with them, so it was hard to create anything comfortable out of what materials were in the void. He made do, though. He had to if he wanted to survive. To succeed.

He lied on his back, staring at the ceiling. In his old house, glow in the dark stars stuck to his ceiling, faded from years of use. What a silly thing it was, to miss something as small as that. To miss the shouts of his sister in a heated gamer moment. The shaking of the house from his father’s experiments.

He curled on his side. Took his glasses off. They were chipped, but they were the only pair he had. As he ran his thumb over the glass, he could remember the first time he got a pair of glasses. He’d finally been able to see his father and sister’s faces clearly. A thing he couldn’t do now.

He’d burned all their pictures. Anything to do with them. This was for the better. Attachments weren’t necessary for his plan. All that was necessary was keeping the Zim’s in check.

So why did it feel so bad?

…

It’s hard, he decides, legs dangling over the balcony. He stares up at the sky, at the fake stars. His mind warps them to the same ones from his childhood. His legs kicked the edge, one boot falling off and dropping below. 

It’s hard, he ponders as he looks below him. The drop was surely deadly. It wouldn’t take much for all of his hard work to be erased. Yet, he couldn’t pull himself away from the edge.

It’s hard to miss someone you know wouldn’t miss you. They never cared about him. They never would. So why did he care about them? He couldn’t name it. It tore him apart.

He’s never believed in an afterlife. But as he stares up at the constellations he created, he can’t help but hope.

“Dad? Gaz?” He laid back, taking his glasses off.

“I’m sorry...” He hiccups, cutting himself off. He wouldn’t cry. Not now. Not ever. Not about them.

“I love you.”


End file.
